Love Life

I can’t breathe. My wheel is wavering between the bike lane and the street and my eyes can no longer tell which side I should be on. Another hill is up ahead and I’m not sure if it’d even be sane to attempt it. It’s been twenty miles in the blistering heat and I have many more until I reach the top of this mountain. I petal faster to gain enough momentum to climb the hill but my breaths become shorter and more shallow with each push. I want to stop and throw my bike down but I can’t. I’m doing this for her, for Eva. Every breath I take is for her, because it’s a breath she can no longer take.

Eva’s last post – the one she wrote before her untimely death left out the poetics and called for help, for help breathing. She had been suffering from Cystic Fibrosis for twenty-five years - the disease would claim her life just 48 hours later. 

Eva blogged every day she could for four years. Her posts were honest and heartfelt, and I imagine left many readers with a puddle of tears on their keyboards. At this age, girls talk about boys, fashion, and dancing. Eva wrote about oxygen tanks and what it’s like to live her life between four hospital walls. 

Before she died, she wrote:

“A mark on the world
A difference
Some proof that I had been here
Something to say that I mattered
That when my body left this world my soul had made its imprint.”

I can’t breathe but I won’t stop until I reach the top. My legs ache and I push faster. The sun burns but I’ll worry about that after. For the first time I notice the leaves changing colors around me and I smile remembering how much Eva loved the fall.